Shine On
by Liete
Summary: -Mutually one-sided UK/US- 'Yes, it was clear that America had fallen into that hippie movement of his, and now he was laughing his arse off on the floor under the influence of marijuana or LSD, or perhaps even both.'


**Shine On  
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**By: Liete**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters portrayed.**

**A/N: This story contains hippie!America, just as a forewarning, heh.  
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"I believe this belongs to you."

No greeting, not even a sarcastic, scathing remark intended to rile him up. No, it was just France on his doorstep, looking impatient with America hanging on his arm and touching his chin in fascination.

"I beg your pardon?" England responded after he got over his initial shock that France was outside his door with America, who shouldn't have been in Europe in the first place. He tried to not let how affectionate America seemed to be acting with France bother him.

"Normally I'd be quite pleased to play with your beloved and give you the details later, but I do not have the patience to deal with…this," France said and moved the arm that America was grasping to draw attention to him.

It was then that America seemed to notice that England was present and he turned to look at him. England finally realized what France was talking about when he did. America's eyes were bloodshot and his eyelids were droopy, and he had an entirely too vacant look about him.

"Manchester, England, England. Across the Atlantic Sea!" America sang and laughed as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"I found him swimming naked in the Seine. He was talking about going to Russia and offering flowers and love," France said emphatically.

"Oh, bollocks," England groaned and pressed a hand to his temple.

"Have I ever told you how soft your chin is, France?" America interrupted, and both looked at him to see him stroking France's chin again. England twitched in irritation, but he couldn't very well act on it.

But he didn't have to anyway, because France shifted America forward so he tumbled against England, who nearly fell over from the sudden weight.

"You love him, you handle him," France said with a wave of his hand and turned to leave.

"I do not-" England started to reply, but America was squirming, still singing "Manchester, England, England" and laughing, so he couldn't get out a response before France disappeared onto the road and was gone. England groaned in frustration and looked down at America snuggling against him, and his cheeks burned.

"Well, come on inside then, you daft fool. You can't be trusted on your own in this condition," England said and tried to maneuver America inside. America immediately spilled onto the floor once inside the door, where he burst into laughter. England clutched at his head again, but pulled it away so he could really _look_ at America.

He hadn't seen America in some time, not when their relations were so tense, and although he'd heard rumors, he hadn't really believed them. Looking at America rolling around on his floor and loudly singing "and I'm a genius, genius!" he began to see that the rumors weren't untrue at all. America hadn't really been the same since John F. Kennedy's assassination, but England wouldn't have expected him to go getting himself involved with that youth movement of his (that had unfortunately made its way to _his_ shores).

But there was no doubt about it. Texas was present, as always, but America's hair was a little longer and unkempt, so that that even that wild strand of his didn't stand out as much, and England could swear that he had the beginnings of facial hair, as well. Then there were his clothes, a too bright shirt with a fringed leather vest on top, bell bottomed, frayed jeans and sandals, and a headband that sported a flower and that peace sign that he could blame his own people for.

Yes, it was clear that America had fallen into that hippie movement of his, and now he was laughing his arse off on the floor under the influence of marijuana or LSD, or perhaps even both.

"Get up, America," England said and nudged at him with his foot.

"Hell no, we won't go," America replied, prompting England to kick him.

"Get up, you bastard," England snapped and America grumbled something about "the man", but he got to his feet. He immediately grinned again and seemed to flit over to the settee, where he fell onto it and started staring at his hands.

"You'll be hungry, I expect?" England asked. If it was marijuana, then America would be hungry, and he'd rather that if it was LSD that America didn't have some hallucination and try to eat something else. America didn't respond, as he was busy staring at his hands in absolute fascination, as if he'd never seen them before. England rolled his eyes and retrieved the tray of scones he'd baked earlier. He fixed himself a cup of tea as well to calm his fraying nerves, so he'd be less apt to snap at America for his foolishness. America was sitting up straight and looking vacantly around the room when England returned, but, as expected, began to shove scone after scone into his mouth. That he didn't spit them out or comment on how disgusting they were was probably a testament to how very far gone America was.

"You know what I decided? I'm going to go to Vietnam and apologize, because she is pissed," America said as he paused in his eating to stare very seriously at England.

"Everyone is rather 'pissed' with you right now, love," England replied tiredly and sipped at his tea.

America blinked at him, then his eyes widened and his face broke out into a huge grin. "Love. Love. All you need is love. Love is all you need, ha ha ha."

England sighed as America seemed to forget his previous decision in favor of singing the Beatles song and laughing. Of course England had shared a joint or two with those boys himself, but America would never know that. England was the morally upstanding one, and especially at the moment he needed to be the mature one, since America was too busy finding everything hilarious.

Of course England had missed America, and he had often thought about contacting him somehow, but it simply wasn't a possibility when officially their countries weren't exactly getting along. Although his people were him, he wasn't his people, but that didn't mean he could just abandon responsibilities because of his personal feelings towards America. Officially he wanted nothing to do with America until he ceased his recklessness and foolishness. Unofficially he was glad to see him, even if America likely wasn't even aware that he'd left home.

Of course that brought up the issue of how America had reached Europe in the first place, but England imagined that if he tried to ask America in his current state that the answer would be that he flew. Spread his wings and flew across the ocean to spread his message of peace and love.

"England, let's have sex," America said suddenly, and England spit out his tea. America stood up and moved over to where England was sitting and sat next to him, where he began fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. England's mind, meanwhile, had come to abrupt halt as it tried to parse what was happening.

There had been a time many years ago that they had almost acted on deeply rooted feelings they both had (or at least England had), but never acted on. V-E Day, and America had come to celebrate with him. They'd wandered from the celebrating crowds and wound up in a small space where they were so close it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Their breath had mingled, but their lips didn't touch. If they had closed that distance, that would have been it. They would have wound up tangled in each other and perhaps things wouldn't be the way they were at that moment. He could have personally congratulated America on the moon landing instead of admiring from across an ocean.

So of course England would have liked nothing more than to push America back and make love to him until they _both _were completely incoherent and only aware of each other. It was something he wanted so badly, but there were too many things that made it impossible. The least of which not being that America was too heavily under the influence of mind altering substances to truly understand what he was doing. That America might think of it as just sex and not years of longing finally coming to fruition also scared him.

America mouthed at his neck, and England shivered. He wanted America so badly, was so inexplicably, but madly in love with the fool that it drove him crazy sometimes, but this wasn't right. The telltale smell of cannabis ironically snapped England out of the euphoric haze he'd almost entered, and he gently pushed America away from him. One day, he told himself. One day there wouldn't be politics standing in his way and he could act on his feelings.

"No, America," he said a bit weakly, and America frowned.

"Why not? Make love, not war, man," he said and waved his index and middle finger at England, the peace sign.

"Because you're being childish. You can't simply run away from your responsibilities, America," England replied and pushed America's fingers out of his face. America blinked at him, and this time England could swear he saw America's brain abruptly change its train of thought.

"Why didn't you come to Woodstock? It was outtasight," he said and moved away from England.

"Because unlike you, I don't shirk my responsibilities simply because it's easier." By then England had regained his composure and resumed sipping at his tea.

America, meanwhile, was standing on his settee and playing an invisible guitar while making strange noises that England assumed were meant to imitate the sound of a guitar. As he listened, he realized that the noises America were making sounded vaguely like his drinking song that America had adopted as his national anthem.

"I'm thinking of petitioning for Hendrix to always play the Star Spangled Banner," America said as he fell back onto the settee and began to laugh again.

"Your boss and your people wouldn't take to kindly to that, I imagine," England replied, although he knew that America would never do such a thing. Once he was done with this phase, he'd be horrified if his beloved national anthem was reduced to the screeching of a guitar.

"Fuck the establishment," America said bitterly, and England had to scoff. He could only imagine what America had been up to while consorting with his country's youth. Doing more than just smoking marijuana and going to concerts, no doubt. He was probably having a lot of sex and calling it free love, while protesting the war he'd originally been so gung-ho about and preaching of peace and everyone loving each other. He'd heard it from Lennon, too, not two months prior. "Give peace a chance." They were just the dreams of children who didn't know any better.

"You should have been there, England. For one weekend, everyone loved each other…"

England's eyes widened and he looked in shock over at America. His eyelids were definitely drooping, and his smile was distant and sad. England closed his mouth, which he hadn't realized was hanging open, and he furrowed his brow in sympathy. He stood up and walked over to America, where he pulled off Texas and brushed America's long fringe out of his eyes.

"I'm sorry it can't always be like that, my love," he said softly, but America was already asleep.

After all, America was still just a child himself. He hadn't lived as long as many of them had. He had yet to see some of the true horrors that history was capable of, after centuries of war and change. The constant shift of power. England himself had been on top, with much of the world in his hands, but that had ended. But he was lucky that he hadn't faded away as Rome had, he was just tired and weary. America was new to power, and still too young to properly handle it, it seemed.

America no doubt hadn't counted on his campaign to rescue Vietnam from the evils of communism ever going so sour, and that he'd alienate some of his closest allies in the process. That there was so much discord among his own people was probably his breaking point. So it was only natural that an optimist like America would gravitate to a philosophy that preached peace and love. Wasn't that one of the reasons why England was in love with America? Because despite how his methods left much to be desired, he honestly wanted to help and be the hero?

But he still had a lot of growing up to do, and he'd see that for himself soon enough, England was certain.

England retrieved a quilt to cover America with and left a glass of water nearby for him to drink when he woke up. Hopefully he wouldn't leave right away when he woke up, coherent, and realized where he was, so he and England could have a real chat without drugs or politics to inhibit them.


End file.
